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before the show started taping live for the east coast viewers at 2pm.
    By the time our limo was in fact in line on Hollywood Boulevard, inching toward the red carpet behind all the other limos, I had to agree with Dana that being a movie star was actually hard work. I was sausaged into a black, sequined Versace dress on loan from one of my fav boutiques on Melrose. While I was in absolute love with the dress, it was at least a size too small, but, thanks to my supportive undergarments, I was able to just barley get into it. God forbid someone should hand me an hors d'oeuvre during the after party, because I might pop a seam. On my feet were, of course, a pair of my own designs from my Spring collection – four inch black stilettos with a Swarovski crystal design down a satin T-strap from the ankle to the toes. Which, thanks to the fabulous skills of Fernando’s salon, were painted in a deep, blood red that perfectly matched my lipstick. My hair was done up in a forties-inspired look with soft waves and the ends tucked under. At one point I passed a mirror and could have sworn Veronica Lake was staring back at me.
    But, as glamorous as I felt, it was nothing compared to the way Dana and Ricky looked together. A more golden couple, I could not imagine. While I was taking shallow breaths to stay in my dress, Dana’s fit her with an easy elegance that had me feeling just the teeniest bit jealous. (Only the teeniest because I knew first hand how many hours in the gym that easy elegance required.) She wore a nude colored, full length dress in a simple bias cut, with a slit up the right leg ending just high enough to be sexy, but not so high as to attract attention on street corners. Her hair was loose, in big, perfect curls, and, while the dress was elegantly simple, she’d tricked it out with a borrowed set of vintage diamonds – a necklace, cuff bracelet, and long, dangling earrings. The whole effect was grace and beauty that perfectly complemented Ricky’s Prada tux.
    If Dana didn’t end up on the best-dressed list tomorrow morning, I was personally writing Joan Rivers a letter of complaint.
    In fact the only thing marring Dana’s graceful get-up was the fact she was twisting her hands into knots on her lap.
    “I don’t know if I can do this,” she said, glancing nervously out the window.
    “Relax,” Ricky said, putting a hand over hers.
    “It’s the red carpet. I’ve never done the red carpet.”
    “It’s just the Viewer’s Choice. It’s not like it’s the Oscars or anything.”
    “Fifteen million people in sixty-five countries watch this live.”
    Ricky turned to her with a raised eyebrow. “Really?”
    She nodded.
    “It’s true. They do,” I said, being one of those who just last year had been glued to the screen myself. I had to admit, I was feeling just the slightest scooch of the nerves myself as I watched the red carpet draw closer.
    “Huh. I didn’t know that,” Ricky said, though he leaned back in his seat like it was no biggie. Of course, he didn’t have to walk it in four-inch heels, either.
    “What if I trip?” Dana asked, voicing my very thoughts. “What if my heel gets caught, or I step on Angelina Jolie’s train, or my bracelet gets caught on Ryan Seacrest’s mic wire? I don’t think I can do this.”
    “Too late,” Ricky said, giving her a wink. “We’re next.”
    He was right. I looked out the tinted limo windows to see the car in front of us pull to a stop and two guys in tuxes and headsets open the back door. I gasped out loud when I saw Johnny Depp emerge.
    “Ohmigod. Did you see who that was?” I asked, gawking like a super fan. “Johnny Depp!”
    “I think I’m gonna faint,” Dana said. “I think I’m gonna pass out on the red carpet. Ohmigod, what if I pass out on the red carpet?!”
    “Deep breaths. You’re gonna do fine, babe,” Ricky reassured her.
    “I need a paper bag,” Dana said, putting her head between her knees.
    “Let’s go. You can do this.